


Slow Blossom- A Pride and Prejudice AU

by dreamcatcherinwonderland



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-22 04:17:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13159113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamcatcherinwonderland/pseuds/dreamcatcherinwonderland
Summary: A re-imagining of Pride and Prejudice with the cast of Doctor Who. I'm not a huge shipper of Jack/Amy but Jack fit better into the role than Rory.Sylvia Noble knows that all men in possession of good fortune must also be in want of a wife, and she is determined to see her daughters married, even if it means badgering her father to do it. Rose is already off to a head start, catching the attentions of Mr. Noble, but Clara is plagued with the awful character of Mr. Jamie McCrimmon.





	Slow Blossom- A Pride and Prejudice AU

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Well, hello! Welcome to the story, and I think it'll be a whopper.

Sylvia Mott fanned herself with the delicate lace number her father, Wilfred Mott, had returned from the war with. She was concerned because he did not seem bothered by the fact that his granddaughters were approaching spinster age and had not been eager to settle down already. It was her mission in life to see that her daughters found happiness, but most of all, a wealthy marriage. 

The Motts were old money, and it was running dry. Ever since her father had returned from the war twenty years ago, they had been on the decline. Even one affluent marriage could solve their familial problems. 

Sylvia ran her fingers along the satin of her skirt and fluffed the layers beneath her with a satisfied noise. She smiled widely at her father, who was reading the newspaper. She cleared her throat. 

"Father, what do you think of your granddaughters situation?" she asked nonchalantly, fixing her eyes on the condensation of her water glass. 

"What do you mean?" Wilfred asked, eyes still transfixed on the paper. 

"They are approaching the spinster age, and don't seem concerned by it." 

Wilfred did not reply, just licked the pad of his forefinger and thumb and turned the page. 

"If you could just pay a social call to the new eligible bachelor in town, Mr. Noble then-" 

Sylvia Mott knew that all men in possession of a good fortune must be in pursuit of a wife. She knew Mr. Noble would fall for one of her daughters, if she could only get her father to agree. 

Wilfred looked up. "And whom is Mr. Noble?" 

"Oh, well, you remember Netherfield Park had a vacancy. The Nobles took residence there." 

"I did not know it had been let." 

"I would not have known either," Sylvia assured, "if it were not for the fact I went into town and ran into dear Mrs. Tyler and she told me." 

Wilfred scoffed. "Old gossip." 

"Well," Sylvia ploughed ahead, pretending she had not heard her father. "Mrs. Tyler says he is a young man of very large fortune. He and his sister are from the west of London. He came down Monday and was so enthusiastic about it, he told that he and his sister would indeed be moved in before Christmas Eve." 

Wilfred put down the newspaper and took off his reading glasses. He folded his hands politely. "Who was this fellow?" 

"Mr. Noble." 

"He is married or single?" 

"Oh! Single, Mrs. Tyler much assured!" Stlvia exclaimed. 

"If Mrs. Tyler says it, it must be so," Wilfred said with a twinkle in his eye. 

"But, father, imagine! He makes such a large sum, four or five thousand a year! Think about what that could mean for my girls!" 

"What does his money have to do with the girls?" Wilfred asked with a frown, folding the newspaper.

"Why, Wilfred Mott, you know perfectly well I was referring to their union with the man," Sylvia said sternly. "Therefore, if you have any concern for your granddaughters' well-being, you will visit him at once." 

"I see no occasion for that," Wilfred said casually. "Why not send the girls themselves so he would have more chance to get acquainted?" 

Sylvia Noble looked scandalized at the very idea. "You know I could never send the poor dears over without your visit first." 

Wilfred just smiled. "If it is my consent you are looking for, dear Sylvia, I could always send a few lines verifying my credentials and then the man had to let them enter his estate. I have no issue if he wants to marry any of them, but I will say I do hope it is my dear little Clara." 

"You must not!" Sylvia insisted. "She is not any better than the others! I daresay Rose is prettier than her, and Amelia more good humored. You just have a soft spot for her and I will not tolerate favoritism amongst your granddaughters."

"It is not favoritism," he replied. "They are as silly as other girls their age, but Clara has more of a quickness about her.” 

“Have you no compassion for my nerves?” Sylvia asked, fanning herself more vigorously. 

“You are talking to your father, sweetheart. Your nerves and I are old friends,” joked Wilfred. 

Wilfred Mott was so odd a man. His years of experience made him gentle and sweet of everyone’s opinion, but Sylvia herself was much more simple minded. She was a woman of mean understanding, conclusions made on little information, and quick temper. When she was discontent, she feared nervousness and a weak mind. The entire purpose of her life was to see her daughters married, and if she had her way it would be sooner than later.  
……  
Mr. Mott had been in fact one of the first to visit Mr. Noble. He knew, however, it would be most wise to not mention the visit until the appropriate time as it would just over excite his daughter.

He saw his opportunity when he saw Clara the following day, trimming a hat on the chaise surrounded by her sisters and mother. 

“I do hope Mr. Noble will like it, Clara,” he said conversationally. 

“We are not to know _what_ Mr. Noble likes,” Sylvia said harshly, jerking her sewing needle upwards, “since we are not visiting him.” 

“Did you forget we will meet him at the ball anyways, mother?” Clara asked. “Mrs. Tyler said she would introduce us.” 

Sylvia harrumphed. “I do not think Mrs. Tyler will.” 

“When is the next ball to be?” Amelia asked her sister, Clara. 

“Tomorrow fortnight,” Clara replied. 

“Oh, so it is!” Sylvia cried, wringing her hands. “Mrs. Tyler is to be gone and so it will be impossible for her to introduce us to Mr. Noble.” 

“Then, my dear, you will have to introduce Mr. Noble to _her_ ,” Wilfred said, smiling. 

“That is impossible!” she cried. “How can I when I am not acquainted with him? You are always teasing me.” 

“Well, I suppose,” Wilfred paused for dramatic effect, “if you will not introduce our precious ones to Mr. Noble, I will have to do it myself.” 

The girls looked up from their sewing. “What?” 

“Oh, I am getting tired of Mr. Noble!” exclaimed Sylvia vehemently. 

“I wish you would have mentioned that before I came to call at the Noble estate. Most unfortunate, but it is too late to turn back as we are acquainted now,” Wilfred said. 

This fact dropped into the room like a lead paperweight just as he wished. His daughter most of all was most thrilled by the news, as he expected her to be. 

“I knew you would not let us down, Mr. Mott! I knew I should persuade you at last. You care too deeply for your granddaughters happiness to not make such a fortuitous acquaintance as this,” Sylvia said knowingly. “What a good joke, too, that you never mentioned a word until just now.” 

Wilfred left the room, fatigued by his daughter’s exclamations of the day. 

“What a good grandfather you girls have!” she told her daughters. “I do not know how we will ever repay him for his kindness towards us, both past and present and future. At his time, it is not so easy to be making new acquaintances but it speaks to his love for you girls that he has done so. Amelia, my love, even though you are the youngest, I daresay Mr. Noble will ask you to dance at the next ball.” 

“I am not afraid,” Amelia said bravely. “For I am the tallest of my sisters.” 

The women spent the rest of the evening theorizing when Mr. Noble would be paying a visit, and when he should be expecting a dinner invitation from their patriarch.  
…..  
No amount of information retrieved by either Sylvia or her daughters themselves could satisfy the woman. They attacked Wilfred Mott in many ways, but he found ways to elude them all, even Clara. They were forced to accept the second hand intelligence of their dear friend, Lady Jones. 

Her opinion was high of the elusive Mr. Noble, as was Sir Smith. They were delighted with his conversationalist skills, his salary, and his demeanor. All of this, they gossiped, made him ever so more the attractive prize to a lucky lady. A lady, of which Sylvia Noble hoped, was one of her beautiful daughters. 

“If I can but see one of my girls crowned the lady of Netherfield Park, and the rest to follow husbands shortly after, I should be happy and my life fulfilled,” Sylvia told her father one day as they sipped their tea. 

Mr. Noble did in fact return Wilfred Motts social call, but much to the frustration of the ladies of the house, he remained inside Mr. Mott’s study the entirety of it. He also had entertained thoughts of catching a glimpse of the fair and lovely ladies, but was also unsuccessful. In fact, the girls saw only two pieces of information important enough to pass along to their impatiently awaiting mother in hushed tones. 

“He rides a black horse,” Amelia whispered. 

“And wears a blue coat,” Rose added. 

A dinner invitation was displaced for Mr. Noble sooner rather than later, and already Mrs. Mott had been planning courses that would credit her good housekeeping. However, the declining letter was received at the house shortly after as it seems Mr. Noble had business to attend in London. 

Sylvia stabbed the skirt she was hemming violently with marking pins as she went on saying, “I fear to think what his business in London so soon after purchasing Netherfield means for you, my dears. Imagine he never feels settled enough to take a wife!” She distraught herself and had to dab at her eyes with a handkerchief at the thought of such an eligible bachelor becoming an old one. 

Lady Jones quieted her with a positive affirmation that she heard Mr. Noble only meant to gather a large party for the next ball, upwards of twelve ladies and five lads. 

The news disheartened the group to hear that so many ladies would be attending, and of such status, no doubt, coming up from London. 

When the party finally commenced it appeared that only his sister and another man had made the final of his doings in London. 

Mr. Noble was good looking and gentlemanly, dressed handsomely and well tailored, warm brown eyes, and debonair brown hair. His sister was a fine woman, of spirit and good nature, with fiery hair. His friend, however, soon drew the attention of the room as it was revealed his salary double that of Mr. Noble and tall with handsome features, which included sultry blue eyes and a mop of well coiffed dark hair. 

The gentlemen announced him to be a fine man, the ladies declared he was much more refined than Mr. Noble, and he was well commended for most of the evening until his real temperament gave way for disgust among the crowd and turned the tide of his popularity. He was discovered to be proud, rude, and above being pleased. Not even the largest estate in Derbyshire could save him from a displeasing countenance. 

Mr. Noble soon made himself acquainted with all the principle people in the room, with an easy charm and grace that left people swooning in his wake, not least of whom was Sylvia Noble.  
He was lively and unreserved, danced every dance, and the most enraged of all the guests when the party was cut too short for his liking. 

“I shall give a ball myself at Netherfield Park and you shall all be invited!” he announced. 

What amiable qualities! How unfair it was to compare him to the character of his friend! Mr. McCrimmon danced only once with Miss Noble, declined being introduced to any other ladies, and spent the evening walking about grandly and superiorly, stopping occasionally to engage with one of his party. His character then had been decided: rude, disagreeable, and everyone hoped he would never come again. The most fierce enemy of Mr. McCrimmon was Mrs. Mott whose own daughter he had snubbed in public. 

Clara had been much obliged to take a rest for two dances because of the scarcity of men in the room, and during part of the second song Mr. McCrimmon had been standing near enough for every word of his conversation with Mr. Noble be made clear. 

“Come, McCrimmon,” Mr. Noble was pleading. “You must dance. All the young ladies in this room tonight, and not one agreeable, old friend?” 

“I certainly shall not,” came the haughty voice of Mr. McCrimmon, “you know how I detest it. As such, I am not likely to dance with a stranger I am not particularly acquainted with, and as your sister is otherwise engaged, I dare not trouble her.” 

“Ah!” Mr. Noble waved him off. “Rubbish! Upon my honor, Jamie, I have not met as many pretty ladies as are here tonight. You are being disgraceful to the good people.”

“ _You_ are dancing with the only handsome girl in the room,” he said, nodding towards the eldest Mott daughter, Rose. 

“Yes,” Mr. Noble agreed. “She is the most beautiful creature I have ever laid eyes upon. But there is one of her sister sitting right behind you -”

Here Clara’s cheeks flushed at the repercussions of being caught eavesdropping. 

“-very pretty and agreeable, so I am told. “Do let me ask my partner to introduce the two of you.” 

Clara straightened herself and smoothed the skirts of her gown. 

“Which do you mean?” Mr. McCrimmon asked, turning round he looked straight at Clara before turning rather coldly away and replying, “So she is tolerable, but nowhere pretty enough to tempt _me_. Why should I give humor to lady who has been scorned by other men? Return to your pretty young friend and enjoy her company, it would be better to leave me to my own devices.” 

Mr. Noble followed his friend's advice. Mr. McCrimmon walked off, leaving Clara with a strong surge of hate towards him. She told the story, however, to her sisters and friends with a good spirit; her lively spirit remained undamaged from the blow and she found pleasure in the ridiculous. 

The evening itself, besides the slight, had been a massive success for the Mott family. Sylvia had gotten to delight in Rose being well received by the Noble family and so warmly admired. Mr. Noble had danced with her twice, and Rose was greatly pleased, Clara felt, but in a quieter way than their mother. Amelia had felt accomplished as she was never without a partner the entire dance, which is all she had cared about for the ball. They returned happily to Longbourn and found Mr. Mott still awake. When he was reading, he paid no attention to the clock and he had been awaiting the days events recount from the ladies of his family. He had rather hoped his daughter would be disappointed in Mr. Noble, but was told a different tale indeed. 

“Oh, my dear father,” Sylvia began happily as she entered the room, “we have had the most delightful evening with the most excellent ball. I do wish we could have entreated you to attend. Rose was so admired, nothing else could be like it. Everybody said how well she looked, and Mr. Noble was the most intrigued by her beauty and countenance and manners, and danced with her twice. Twice! That is more than he asked any other creature in the room. Firstly he asked Miss Jones, and I was most vexed. But, he did not admire her at all, and seemed quite struck by our Rose going down the dance and inquired after her. They were introduced and soon afterwards danced the next two dances with her, and on and off with all the other ladies, until he reached Rose once more-” 

“If he showed any compassion for _me_ ,” Wilfred cried, “he would not have danced half so much.” 

“I am quite delighted with him. He is so excessively handsome, and his sister of fine spirit. I never in my life saw anything more elegant than her dress. I dare say the lace in that gown-” 

And it was here Wilfred interrupted her once more. “I do not want to hear any more descriptions of finery.” 

Sylvia was therefore obligated to seek other subjects that were safer to regale, and exaggerated with bitterness the shock of Mr. McCrimmon’s rudeness. 

“I can assure you,” she carried on, “Clara is not missing out on much not being the object of his fancy. He is a most horrid man, indeed of high fortune and estate, but not worth pleasing. So conceited with his vision of grandeur there was no enduring his company! Not handsome enough to dance with! I wish you would have been there, Mr. Mott. You would have put him in his place. I do not like the man.”  
……  
When Rose and Clara were alone, the latter rounded on the elder and protested she let on how much she admired him. After much prodding, she finally let out in a gush, 

“He is just what a man ought to be! Sensible, good natured, lively; such perfect manners; such perfect breeding.” 

“You make him sound like a cattle dog,” teased Clara, making her sister flush pink. “He is also handsome, which I think makes his character complete.” 

“I did not expect the honor of a second dance,” Rose said. 

“Did you not?” Clara asked. “ _I_ am not. That is the difference between me and you, I suppose. I am always expecting of compliments, and you are surprised. Why would he not ask you? It should not have escaped his notice that you were five times prettier than any girl in the room. Well, he certainly is very agreeable, so I give my consent for your liking of him. You have liked many a stupider person.” 

“Clara!” Rose giggled, scandalized. 

“You are a great deal too apt, dear sister, to like people in general. You never see a fault in anyone.”

“I do not wish to be too hasty in discrediting anyone,” Rose said, “but I always speak my mind.”

“I _know_ you do, and with your good sense to be susceptible to the folly of others is baffling! Affectation of candor is acceptable, but sometimes you are disillusioned before you are even properly acquainted, my dear sister! To take the good of everyone and none of the bad, that is a quality that belongs to you alone. You like his sister as well, I suppose even though her manners do not equal his?” Clara asked. 

“She is perfectly nice, maybe not at first,” Rose admitted. “I had a very pleasing conversation with her. She is to come live with her brother, and keep the house. I would not be surprised if we found a very lovely neighbor in her indeed.” 

Clara listened to her sister’s repertoire, but was not so easily convinced. While her older sister, Rose, was more quick to accept new friends into her heart and life and Clara loved her for it, she was the more cautious of the pair and knew the Nobles had probably not shown their true colors yet. Clara was removed enough from the situation, having not been paid much attention herself from Miss Noble, that she found herself ill suited to approve of her. Donna was in fact, a a fine lady, that much was to be true. She was not deficient in good humor when pleased, but was quick to anger and slow to warm up to outside companions. She was rather pretty, and had been educated like her brother at a private seminary in London. Miss Noble had her own fortune of twenty thousand pounds, and was entitled to spend more than she actually ought. 

Mr. Noble had inherited a sizeable estate of one hundred thousand pounds which he used to fulfill his late father’s wish of purchasing Netherfield Park. Before all the buzz surrounding his flighty notions, it was thought he might be quite comfortable the rest of his days at Netherfield and leave a sum for his next generation to purchase a large estate of their own. He had not been of age for very long when it was suggested to him to take a look at Netherfield, and he took only a half hour to look over the principal rooms before announcing he would take it. 

Between him and McCrimmon there was an easy friendship, to the great surprise of all who knew them, as their characters were so opposing. Noble was endeared to McCrimmon by the openness of his temper. Mr. Noble was McCrimmon’s fiercest supporter, he relied on him heavily in important matters, and trusted his opinion more than anyone else’s. In intelligence, Mr. McCrimmon was superior, not that Mr. Noble was not clever by any means, but the older man had more life experience, making him the wiser. Mr. McCrimmon was, however, inferior in terms in manners. Although well-bred, he was at the same time too haughty and too reserved. While Mr. Noble was certain to be like wherever he went, the same could not be said of his friend. 

The manner in which they spoke of the Merryton assembly could not have been more well received. Mr. Noble was sure he had never met more pleasant or prettier people in his life than on that fateful day; everybody had been most kind and attentive of him; there was no formality or stiffness that he had come to expect with making new acquaintances; and as to Miss Mott, he could never have dreamed an angel more beautiful than she. McCrimmon, on the other hand, had much to say about lack of decorum, lack of beauty, and lack of sense amongst the party. That he thought Miss Bennet pretty, but that she also smiled too much. 

Miss Mott was therefore established as a sweet girl, and everyone in town was willing Mr. Noble to think of her as he chose.


End file.
